Page 24 of The Bodyguard

“No.”

“Okay.”

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“You don’t owe me your past. But you should know I’ve already read the file.”

Of course he had. She wrapped both hands around the mug and stared at the rising steam.

“Then why ask?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I dated Rick Wexler. You probably figured that out already.”

“I did.”

“I tried to get him to stop using,” she said, voice low. “Tried to pull him out of a party I never wanted to be at. The drugs weren’t mine. They dropped the charges. But it didn’t matter. The press made it look like I was there for the party, not the damage control.”

She glanced up, half-expecting judgment. There wasn’t any. Just his steady, unreadable expression.

“After that,” she added, “I promised myself I’d let no one put me in a position where I couldn’t control the outcome.”

One eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “How’s that working out for you?”

She let out a short, humorless snort. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re in my house, carrying a gun, giving me orders, and apparently watching me sleep. So, yeah. Just stellar; couldn’t be better.”

The edge in her voice didn’t move him an inch.

Instead, he crossed his arms again and leaned against the doorframe. “You asked for protection.”

“I didn’t ask, Maya did, and I’m not sure even Maya was asking for a Dom in Kevlar.”

His gaze sharpened. “But you didn’t say no to it either.”

Her fingers tensed around the mug. “Do you enjoy it?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand. “Yes.”

“That certainty,” she said, her voice quieter now. “The control. The rules.”

“Yes.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Does it ever get exhausting? Carrying everyone else’s safety like a responsibility you were born with?”

“No,” he said. “Because I don’t carry what isn’t mine. I only take what’s given.”

Something about that sentence slipped under her skin.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” she asked. “Giving you my power?”

“You haven’t given me anything,” he said. “Not yet.”

Andi’s pulse fluttered. “But you think I will.”

“I think you want to.”

She wanted to deny it. She really did. But her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

Instead, she asked, “And what if I did? What would you do with it?”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside her room. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just deliberate. He crossed the room, stopping a foot or so from her bed.

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